


But that was when I ruled the world

by ASoulFromFarFarAway



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Are Twins, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Bonding, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Cross References, Gen, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, King Creativity is names Ares, Mythology References, Other, References to 'Game of Thrones', References to 'Ronia Röverdottir', References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Christian Religion & Lore, Remus is a good brother, Remus' eyes are red, Roman goes rouge, Roman is short for Romulus, Roman's eyes are green, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASoulFromFarFarAway/pseuds/ASoulFromFarFarAway
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	But that was when I ruled the world

A stage of existing once. Begin, existit, perish. Exhale, inhale, exhale. Stand up, stand, fall down. Fetus, person, corpse. 

Another group may experience the stages more times. Don't exist, exist, don't exist, exist again and repeat. Unlit candle, candlefire, blow out and light again. All things must go through the two stages of being; existing and not existing. 

Most go through one stage, the stage of not existing, twice, while they only go through the Begin, be, perish, rebirth. 

Though some things may only see a stage once. Begin, exist. This though, comes with its own bonus stage. Begin, exist and then constant change. Gourd, plant, timber, fire, embers, ash, soil, energy for another saoling. 

The King knew this. A constant awareness of the fact that he may never know which he was, until his current stage, -the second one, camer to pass.

The first stages of said end came in the rolling thunder of clouds, washing in over the forested mountain range surrounding his kingdom. Like a tsunami, they brought the vengeful element of water. 

It began as a nuisance, turning people sluggish and making them hide away in sheltered places, but soon, fields would be flooded and crops would rot. The channels in the streets overflowed and within a week of non-stop downpour, shapes would float on the surface. 

Rats first, then cats and dogs and other strays. The first child's body brought to his castle had the king crying, and by dusk, salty tracks stained his cheeks as he looked on the dozen of drowned.

The rain came to an end after but a fortnight, but left years of destruction in its wake. Homes were ruined, death tolls were close to the hundred and crops were all but ruined. Homelessness and famine had never reigned as now. 

When winter came early, it wiped the feeble hope of recovery. Over the course of a single winter, a third of his kingdom had entered stage three; perish. 

Dark bags hung under The King's eyes. When his nights were not spent mourning the loss of his people in privacy, his scarce time asleep was haunted by visions of pale horses, the sound of thundering white hooves and the knickinging of a black stallion.

Coughs and aches turned to spewing of blood and chunks of organs, screams of pain as people's bodies rejected themself. 

The king would hide the growing red stain in the crook of his elbow when in the presence of his people.

His people had their theories, and soon, every ally, every pub, was filled with hused and hateful conversations, all worded in the exccast way that his own inner dialogue was. After all, he was the creator, the very core of the Imagination, so there really was no one else to turn the blame towards.

Digging in the dry dirt became increasingly difficult, and soon, they had to give up on digging mass graves, and bodies were left in the merciless sun, where they became bloated before pooping and spewing the most vile puss on the cobblestone.

The King did not blame the people of the Imagination when they circled like hungry animals, pitchforks and blazing torches in hand. 

He took no pride in his own selfish, almost animalistic desire to remain in the second stage though, but no shame either. It was instinct for anything and anyone, after all. 

All the same, he was aware that soon, the end would catch up to him. So, he made a choice instead. 

The day Morality had an epiphany, where he realized that there was ‘good’ and then there was ‘bad’, and as such chose that their host would benefit from nursing the first, was the day The King of the Imagination entered stage three.

A rumble had filled the valley, making the evergreens shake till they toppled and the mountains crumble. The ground cracked, and the earth beneath peoples feet disappeared into the subtle coursing river. 

Hundreds of feet of empty took the place of a moat, effectively separating the kingdom from the world around it. Only two stone bridges on opposing sides kept the island from everything else. The drop was miles, and salt water from the sea tossed itself at the new cliff walls with such vigor, they may as well have been starving dogs.

The island itself cracked next. A straight line, through the streets, through the houses and through the castle. Exactly like Matt's Fort from ‘Ronja, the Robber's Daughter’. 

The King cracked next. His body contorted and ripped and tore, blood staining the ground as he howled. 

But he would not perish, and like the day Zeus split humans into two separate parts because he feared their power, thus condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves, King Ares was thrust through stages three and four of being.

Left in the world, was only two children, on either side of the crack. Mirror twins, left to stare at each other in confusion. 

The sun, it's position never truly changing, cast gentle light on the left side, and from the cracks, flowers and seedlings sprouted. Warmth spread and the remaining people cheered as they picked fruits and nuts and berries from where his world had terraformed into something of an Edens Garden. An apple tree wound itself to a throne, with leaves of gold and apples like rubies. The water turned crystalline, flowing in creeks and falling like pearl-strings over the edge. Butterflies and fuzzy little friends ventured from the new forest and birdsong filled the air.

Meanwhile, the right side was left in the shadows. Eyes began glistening and dark shapes moved, gnashing their fangs and flexing their talons. The stone rotted, blacked. What little trees were left withered and seemed to cry, their leaves turning to a green smog which made a heavy blanket over the dry earth. People turned even gaunter, their skin rotting and beatles came out of hiding to bring havoc. The course crow from a raven somewhere was interrupted by all sorts of bumps and screams and cries. A thicket wound a throne like that of The Iron Throne, and the berries it grew resembled skulls, groaning ghastly. Gunky water rolled off the edge.

The boy on the right watched his living reflection. The only difference in the two, was their garments and the streak of grey though the others hair. And the eyes.

Eyes void of pigment, red like the blood moon. But they didn't look cruel. It was a natural sort of pale red, just a simple lack of color. The pupil was plumb and reddish tinted, and they shone and reflected like they ought to.

Meanwhile, the boy on the right side watched, mesmerized by the cold green which looked back at him. A sclera of pale yellow made the color pop even more, and a slight milky glaze made the sharp line of his pupils seem grey.

Tentatively, he lifted a hand, and his other half mirrored. They carried on like that for a little while, testing and mimicking. 

Then, the red-eyed boy broke out in a grin. “What's your name?” and the green-eyed one shrugged. “I dunno. You?” And they giggled. “You pick mine and I pick yours?” He suggested after a little. 

“Romulus!” the red one decided. The green eyed one, now Romulus, wrinkled his nose. “That's so long though, Remus,” he complained, and Remus shrugged. “Just go by Roman for short then?”

And so they came to be, two sides of a coin, separated by a gorge. 

Over time, they would each stablizinge the feeble bridges as their host's creativity began to intertwine with his reality. 

Two blue boys would whisk away the red one with the green eyes, to where he would become part of their trio of so-called “Light Sides” while the green boy stuck himself on a duo of a purple boy and a yellow boy, like a little tick. 

The twins grew to distrain the other, then hate. They saw each other less and less. No more sitting with their legs dangling in the gorge and mimicking each other, or throwing equal amounts of groaning skulls and ruby apples at each other. No more playing and no more closure.


End file.
